Autonoma- Gate 13 Page 12

  “I’m fine,” he replied. “No, wait.”

  I could hear him grunting as groans of frustration echoed from the hole.

  “I’m stuck,” he cried.

  “What?” I shrieked, dropping to my knees to see as Michael’s feet flailed between the concrete and rusting iron rods, but how he even crawled into such a tiny space was beyond me.

  “What are you stuck on?” I asked.

  “I dunno.”

  “For crying out loud,” I grumbled, reaching for his feet. “For once do what you’re told and stop fighting me.”

  “No, I’m nearly free.”

  “Michael!”

  He kicked out, wiggling his way through.

  “Crawl through,” he declared, his face appearing in the gap with a smile plastered on it.

  “I can’t fit through there, you idiot.”

  The smile disappeared from his face, and he stood up, walking away.

  “Come back, now!”

  “Fine,” he replied with a sigh, as the deep-seated rumble returned, capturing the ground beneath us.

  Concrete and rubble crumbled to dust inside the rupture, and I could feel the water around my ankles swirling as if it was being sucked along the corridor.

  “Michael, get back over here. Quickly!”

  “OK. OK,” he repeated, approaching the hole, as I reached out my hand to help pull him through. The light from the other side was snuffed out as a large chunk of concrete fell, blocking the rupture.

  “Michael!”

  “Help me,” he screamed, his words muffled by the collapsing wall.

  Digging at the rubble, I pulled out large chunks only for more to fall in their place. The wall above me tore apart as a series of enormous cracks spread across the surface, forcing me to dodge a large plate of plaster.

  Along the corridor, the planks of the wooden floor groaned. A wall yards from my position collapsed, falling through the fracturing wood, disappearing into darkness. The ceiling drooped, and I could feel the floor starting to slope down toward the growing hole where the other wall once stood.

  “Help me, Alex!” my little brother screamed.

  I placed my hands on the largest chunk of concrete separating us, and with all my might, I pulled. A slither of light broke through, and I could see my little brother’s teary eyes staring back at me. Reaching into the hole, Michael strained his fingers to reach mine, his nails bloodied as were mine.

  “Don’t leave me behind,” he pleaded.

  “I won’t,” I replied. “I’m right here.”

  ‘DELIVER’, typed across my visor, as the walls crumbled and the floor gave way beneath us. We tumbled into total darkness.

  Chapter 14

  Enhancement Can Be Yours

  I gasped for air. Instead, my mouth was filled with water. No, not water; this was something more akin to a gel. I spluttered for breath but more of the suspension saturated my throat. My heartbeat pounded like a drum inside my skull, and my lungs were in excruciating pain.

  Muffled screaming filled my ears, sapping at the bleak nothingness consuming all other of my senses. I could see nothing, I could smell nothing, and I felt weightless. Something was holding me; I could feel it all over my body.

  The muffles turned from a suppressed hum, to a more familiar tone.

  “Alex. Alex!” my little brother cried. “Wake up!”

  Honing my little brother’s location to somewhere in front of me, and desperate to surface, I attempted to swim forward, kicking hard against the gel. My progress was slow. With everything I had left to give, I lunged toward the sound of Michael’s cries. My arms, my legs, my lungs, every part of me cried out in agony, as I strained forward, my senses fading. A hand grabbed my own.

  The pressure released as my shoulder was freed. My face was pulled clear as Michael released his grip, slumping to the ground, panting, flopping against the white tiles. I repositioned my arm and pulled myself further from the grasp of the gel, rolling onto my side. Convulsions cleared most of the liquid from my lungs as I drew short sharp breaths.

  My little brother turned his head toward me, and I had a hundred questions to ask him, but more than anything, I wanted to know he was OK. I stared back, unable to utter a word, and he returned a smile.

  Above me, a fierce fire burned. I could hear large chunks of what I assumed were parts of the power plant breaking away and toppling into the gel with a muted splash.

  “We should get out of here,” I croaked.

  “OK,” my little brother chimed, jumping to his feet.

  How had he recovered so quickly? He must have landed in the gel too. The distance of the fire and the time it was taking the debris to hit the surface meant we must have had a hell of a fall. There was no way he could have fallen this far, not landed in the gel, and be this eager to get to his feet. How long was I out for?

  “Come here,” I instructed, dragging my feet and pulling Michael under the small ledge above the doorway at the side of the room.

  Wiping the grime from the small window, I peered through to a large vessel sitting moored at a dim dock below. It was a big boat, I could see the bow and a few feet beyond it, but it looked about the size of a container ship. The dock itself appeared to be inside a large metal shed. Rusting corrugated iron panels climbed up either side of the ship, far beyond the reach of the three small lights flickering on the wall.

  Movement caught my attention as a silhouette of a figure marched from the shadow of the ship. I pressed my nose to the glass to get a better look as three more figures appeared; children, following the first with skips in their steps.

  “Hey!” I screamed, banging my fists against the door as I reached for the handle, though it didn’t turn. I pulled on the door, but it didn’t give. “Hey! Over here!” I shouted, as I felt Michael trying to push me aside to see. “This must be another way into the park,” I declared, stepping back to gather my thoughts, as the last of the figures disappeared through the hanger doors on the far side of the dock.

  My little brother stood on his toes, straining to see through the window, trying the handle but getting the same result.

  “We have to stop them,” he insisted.

  “How?” I asked.

  “Henri can hack into the system and--”

  “Henri?” I snorted, almost flabbergasted. “You saw what happened when he tried to use the terminal in the power plant. He’s old, and he’s useless.”

  I saw Michael’s lower lip extending.

  “Where is he anyway?” I responded, turning back to the gel.

  “There!” my little brother exclaimed, pointing into the corner.

  A heavy sigh accompanied the drop in my shoulders. “I’ll get him,” I muttered, knowing full well I’d never be allowed to leave the useless lump here. “Maybe I can use him to at least batter down the door.”

  To my surprise, the old tin can seemed to have survived the fall quite well. True, he was as responsive as a dodo, but that wasn’t anything new, and I couldn’t see any major damage as I approached. Absent of any enthusiasm, I kicked the old hoverbot’s casing. It was still a heavy useless lump burdening me every step of the way. Reaching down, I collected him up and attempted to zip him into the backpack. It tore open.

  “Over here,” I shouted to Michael, the reflection of an artificial glow glinting off Henri’s painted on eyes catching my attention. “Come here.”

  “Where does it go?” he asked, running to my side and peering around me, clinging to my jeans.

  “How do I know?” I replied. “It’s the same direction those people were going, and unless you want to try swim back through that gel stuff, it appears to be our only way out of here.”

  Michael glared at the double doors in front of us for a moment, scanned the room, and returned his attention to me. “OK.”

  I placed my hand against the door and, with hesitation, pushed it open. The creek of the hinge echoed about the long room, and I stepped inside, Michael slipping through as it closed beh
ind him.

  There were no chairs against the long desks, but there were posters welcoming visitors pinned on the walls above the stack of wooden serving trays gathering dust. At the far end was another set of double doors, and opposite us was a single one.

  “I bet they came in through those double doors,” I proclaimed, breaking into a stride. “They probably lead to that dock.”

  “We can warn those people!” Michael exclaimed.

  “Yeah, and get out of here,” I retorted.

  The ceiling caved and rubble deluged the far end of the room. Knocked from my feet, Henri and the backpack were thrown aside, my little brother dropping to his knees as dust engulfed the air.

  Scrambling to my feet, I raced to Michael’s position, throwing open my jacket and forming a shield over his head.

  Silence returned, and I looked up. As the dust settled, I could feel a dry burning in my throat as Michael hacked up a dribble of brown liquid, spitting it from his lips. I waved my hand to clear the air and assessed the damage. The room seemed intact, though the double doors were buried; even the doorframes were no longer visible.

  “Are you OK?” I asked, turning to Michael.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” my little brother spluttered, wiping the dirt from his cheek.

  One of the welcome posters peeled from the wall as I scanned the room and, standing to my feet, I collected up the tattered paper. ‘WELCOME TO THE A.M.I.’ the white text proclaimed, set against a black and white stylized sunrise.

  “A.M.I?” I muttered. “What’s that?”

  Discarding it from my grasp, I approached the yellow tin can buried under an inch of rubble and dust.

  “Come on,” I declared, collecting up the old hoverbot and ruined, dusty backpack, though I could sense Michael’s hesitation. “It’s not like we have much choice,” I retorted.

  “I guess,” he responded, standing, dusting off his clothes.

  “There’ll probably be a power point or something here at least. Maybe I can get Henri going again,” I declared, trying my best to make a terrible situation at least bearable for a moment longer.

  “OK,” my little brother replied, resuming his grip on my jeans. “For Henri.”

  “Yeah, for Henri,” I replied with a hint of sarcasm, rolling my eyes.

  Together, we approached the single door. It was nothing fancy. The marks in the carpet suggested it was left propped open by a door stop, perhaps to allow visitors to progress straight through. I assumed the tables and serving trays provided drinks and canapes. I guessed the people who came through here were important, or maybe they needed to be lured in with the promise of alcohol and tiny sandwiches.

  The insignificant door opened to a grand corridor, though the paintings once hanging here were long gone; judging by the fading on the dark-oak panels. The carpet was luxurious and deep. Chandeliers, minus all their trinkets, dominated the ceiling and plinths, void of their treasures, filled the spaces between the blank walls.

  The wooden panels here, and the doors they held, were carved with intricate images. Men with oversized fishbowls on their heads shook hands with engineers holding long hammers. Scientists with beakers shook hands with men in suits brandishing briefcases. Women looked on, admiring these figures from afar, as children clung to their skirts. ‘WELCOME TO THE A.M.I.’ was engraved into the wood above the doors.

  Michael looked to me for confirmation. I replied with a shrug of my shoulders. With Henri in my hands, and the tattered remains of the backpack slung over my shoulder, I pushed against the doors.

  A square room, about fifty-feet-long and wide, with simple chairs and metal frames were arranged in rows like a theatre, facing a small podium. The remnants of a screen dangled from the ceiling as the projector sat dormant behind the rows, the reels of film caked in dust.

  Around the room, some of the posters remained in place on the walls; while the others lay crumpled on the floor, all brandishing the tagline, ‘ENHANCEMENT CAN BE YOURS WITH A.M.I.’

  We progressed along the well-trodden path through the room and into the next, larger room featuring a series of machines. Constructed with glass, valves, springs, coils and copper wire, the idle machines had an array of probes, restraints, and levers. The layers of dust suggested the place hadn’t been touched for decades, the smell of singed flesh and hair lingering in the air.

  “What does this one do?” Michael asked, breaking away and preparing to poke at the glass of the nearest contraption.

  “Don’t touch it!” I barked.

  “Why?”

  “Who knows what these things do? Henri activated this place when he started booting up the power plant, but these machines haven’t been touched in years. The wires could be corroded--”

  “Nah,” he dismissed, smearing the dust across the glass.

  My own curiosity getting the better of me, I stepped closer to a machine shrouded in a red velvet curtain. Wires, formed into coils, appeared to act as hand cuffs, while the legs were restrained with large metal clamps. Valves and bulbs filled a glass bell in the middle of the machine, and everything was linked with exposed copper wires. I poked my head behind the curtain at the back.

  Plywood panels, held together with nails and screws, formed the backdrop, with a small slit to allow the operator to look out and observe. A single lever connected two wires, but there was little else here, apart from the dust bunnies.

  The other machines were the same in their function, resembling nothing more than tricks and show pieces. Designed to lure the participant into thinking they were being shocked and tested when the operator did little more than turn on the lights.

  The smell of singed flesh and hair grew stronger as I approached a black curtain toward the back of the room and behind it, more machines. The plywood of the operator’s booths were charred around the levers, suggesting something went wrong with these discarded charlatans.

  One of the machines fired up, flooding the room with an orange glow. Across the wall, defaced posters clung to the painted brickwork like a shrine to everything promised by this facility.

  The graffiti adorning the walls of the power plant reared its ugly head here too, scrawled across the tagline of every poster of this makeshift gallery, before the last line, the letter, ‘F’, had been sprayed in red paint, and ‘LY’, finished it.

  ‘ENHANCEMENT CAN BE YOURS WITH FA.M.I.LY’.

  Welcomed to the A.M.I. with a faded and tattered sign pinned in place, we entered another long room. Metal tables formed a walkway through the center to another door on the far side and baskets, some containing garments, sat on the floor, while the walls consisted of wire cages with more garments secured inside. Between the wall and tables, machines more similar to oversized claw machines from a carnival were idle on their copper bases.

  My little brother reached into a basket, pulling the scrunched-up material out. He wafted it in the air, shaking it into its proper shape and scattering more dust. The shirt was navy-blue and plain, apart from the acronym A.M.I. embroidered in white thread on the left breast. Michael pulled out a matching hat and pants from the other baskets.

  “What do I want these for?” my little brother moaned, as I handed him a pair of socks.

  “Your clothes are soaking. Put these on and all the rest so you don’t get ill.” I sounded like Mom.

  “You sound like Mom.”

  “Just shut up and put them on,” I insisted, grabbing a set of clothes for myself.

  I dug through the small pile of shoes, trying to find a matching set, let alone a pair in the correct size.

  “Here,” I urged, thrusting the smallest pair I could find toward Michael.

  “They’re too big!”

  “It’s the smallest there is. Just put them on,” I instructed, grabbing a pair for myself and shoving our sodden socks and shoes into Michael’s torn backpack. Spotting a green duffle bag discarded on the floor, I tossed the bag and contents in there instead.

  “Oh cool!” my little brother exclaimed, diving
into a basket near the door. “Look at these,” he declared, holding aloft a set of dog tags. Placing them over his head, he trotted off to investigate more baskets. I approached, hoping to get myself a nifty souvenir, besides the clothes, to find the basket empty. Throwing the duffle bag over my shoulder, I collected Henri.

  The next room was filled with machines, similar to the ones in the previous room, their claws replaced by hair clippers, also idle on their copper bases alongside the chairs.

  My little brother poked and prodded the clipper wielding barbers. They spun freely, with little to no resistance, smacking into the side of the chair. Michael retracted his hand and turned his eyes toward me.

  There wasn’t a lot to them. They reminded me more of the desk lamps you can lower and raise. Where I would expect to see electrical wires though, there were metal cables. I follow the lines down to the base, where they disappeared inside. With a gentle nudge, the oversized lamp come barber toppled from its pedestal. The metal struck the floor with less force than a heavy book, and the tiles responded with the resounding of a metallic ping.

  A series of cables dangled the robot’s base from the pedestal, granting me a view inside to the wires running down to the floor, disappearing toward the mirrored wall. I tapped the glass with my finger; eager not to bring myself further bad luck by smashing the thing. The mirror was real, the wall however was flimsy. The sign declaring ‘NO ACCESS FOR SUBJECTS’, on a door in the corner did little to dissuade my curiosity, and the lock was no match for the weight of Henri.

  “What are you doing?” Michael shrieked.

  “Nothing,” I dismissed, putting Henri on the chair and stepping into the narrow, unlit gap behind the mirrors.

  Michael shrieked, as one of the machines came to life. I couldn’t help but laugh, as my little brother leapt from his shoes. I poked my head out of the doorway.

  “That’s not funny,” he remarked, picking himself back up.

  “Come see,” I offered, stifling the giggles.